Pilot, welcome to Beacon!
by Cherryayay
Summary: When Hunters fail, who is there to pick up the slack? Us. Angels of death with wings of cold steel, scythes of blade and bullet, with souls of deadly force. We are the Infinite Stratos. We are Man's saviors. Now, we must become Hunters.
1. Chapter 1

In this world, it's an endless struggle of Darkness versus the Light, and the Light is supposed to be the good ones. Heroes, the conquerors of evil, savior of their kind! Yet. Why can't the Light handle itself. Like an uncontrolled flame, it lashes out at the shadows surrounding it, while burning hot with waves of cool passing through where it grew weak, or settled, before the uncontrollable heat returned.

First, it was warriors. Knights. People who fought with swords and primitive styles, praying and hoping for them being able to see the next day. Then, it was soldiers, using there newly made firearms to keep the beasts at bay. It was working. They had power to defend themselves and make a comeback.

But with great power comes great responsibility.

Instead of their barrels, their metal and wood, metal spewing machines of death, facing the Darkness, they found themselves aiming it at each other.

War. Death. Unreasonable slaughter, completely ignorant to the power they were feeding their great enemies, the Darkness. Yet, it seemed, their greatest enemies were not the soulless abominations that haunt their night, but each other.

Then came the Hunters. While mankind was too busy fighting themselves, they never realized how much they fractured each other, how weak they became. As if the Darkness could be destroyed by not focusing on them. Too weak, mankind found themselves nearing extinction as their once greatest enemy, once kept at bay, came back stronger, faster, and in greater numbers. Like a scythe through a field of wheat.

The Hunters, desperate for some kind of solace, looked not too conventional, outward weapons, but those within themselves. And after, countless trials and errors, hopeless battles with the Darkness, the Grimm, they found it. Their soul. Aura. They didn't need outward, physical weapons, merely only using them as a form of outward use, while it was their souls that empowered their swings, strengthened their resolve, increased their speed and made them gods amungst men.

But eventually, the need for them became to great, too far spread among their crippled, widespread kingdoms. That made the Kingdoms. Their walled, **_safe_** , fortresses that could keep them safe. But man' arrogance and pointless need for blood, for something that made their hearts beat became to great, and with the open division amungst themselves, the Humans and the Faunus, people of Man and people of Animal, they found ways to sate their blood lust.

The Hunters found themselves needed more than ever. With the encroaching Darkness, endlessly patient, and with each other, breaking apart the pointless scuffles, while also keeping their near extinction at bay.

That's where _we,_ come in.

People who are sick, and tired of all this pointless, scarring blood shed. Yet, we are not afraid to spill it ourselves. Whether Man or Grimm, we will be the ones to answer the call. Once upon a time, we were called Angels. We were the last shining beacon of hope when the Hunters couldn't do it. When their governments and armies couldn't handle it.

We answered the call.

Once...once we merely mortal. We didn't rely on the power of Aura to keep us going, no, we used our will, our pure training to do just that. Once, we used weapons of sharp blade, hard, unrelenting fist. Then, we used bullet, and allowed ourselves to apply the soul into our work. But we never forgot, never forgot the ways of our old ways, and we were the ones, the people who mastered Blade, Bullet and Soul into one, graceful and oh so deadly blend of practice.

Once, we wore leather and steel. Now? We have wings. We were suits of plastic, steel and taught fibers. Technology that would never impair us as long as we weren't reliant on it. We soar the skies, roam the night in silence, and we are well known.

Infinite Stratos. Once, nothing more than a guild of weary, but not quite given up, warriors. Now? We serve the people, whether we must go against them for necessity, or fight alongside them for our species survival.

I am Jaune Arc, and like my long dead brethren and ancestors, I am one of those Angels. I will be the scythe that cuts through the fields of Evil, serving our people as we have for years.


	2. Chapter 2

"Tonight's gonna be a dark one..." Looking at the dark clouds and the starless sky, a man of much experience and age took only one look to know this meant an evil omen.

Something would happen.

"Daliah, let's lock up, yeah?" Looking to his eldest daughter, Daliah Croft, he saw not his child, but a growing woman with a face he longed to touch once more. Fair skin, brightest sapphire eyes, thin body and that same, unruly fire of hair, a flash of his now departed wife flashed before him. She even had the same glint as her mother.

"Pa..." Daliah hesitated, but she did as she was told. Old, yes. But her pa was experienced. The old warhammer above the fireplace a badge of his past life, all his past accomplishments on each scratch and chip in the old metal and wood weapon.

But superstition and feelings in old bones isn't what made her stop for but a mere moment. She knew that look. Back when Lovette Croft was still alive, she grew up hearing how beautiful both of them were, and how similar they were. Looks and attitude, it was impossible not to see them as twins.

The young woman went to the windows, locking the metal bars and barring the door with a reinforced steel cover, all pieces nailed and welded to their appropriate places. As both of the two denizens went around their modest house, locking up with steel and wood, Daliah grabbing her shotgun and her pa twirling his warhammer, Lovecroft, with anxious wait, the outside was none too different.

Houses were going dark as night encroached. The old village of Thermas may be small, but by Monty were they strong. Many of the denizens were old soldiers and Hunters settling down, so defense wasn't a question, but the presence of trained warriors still didn't stop a ripple of unease going through the village when particularly dark nights happened like tonight.

With everything set and done, Daliah swept her red ponytail over her shoulder. Looking at her old man, she wondered how he managed to stay firm and...alive. He lost his wife, his old team, age hadn't been kind and he was missing both a leg and an arm, both to be replaced by shotty pieces of metal Atlas was so "generous" to give the old hero. It still sent a spike of anger down her spine. Her pa was the greatest man alive, she'd bet all her lien he could take on Atlas and their cowardly robots with a grin on his face, still spouting old superstition and stories he heard and made from his time as a Hunter.

He was a hero, he deserved to be recognized for it! Not, stuck living in a small four room house, stuck with his daughter to take care of him and having to replace the parts of his metal limbs every time he put a little too much stress on them just for making a living. She choked down a small sob as she saw ole' Smith Croft gain that stare, just looking past anything he was facing into old memories.

She learned quickly not many of those memories were good. Smith suffered weekly night terrors, her piecing together it was about the time he lost his old team, old allies and most painfully, watching his wife die to the claws of the Grimm.

Lovette hadn't been a fighter. Hell, the two of her parents had met when her ma had been selling flowers for the local orphanage, and her pa had just taken a day off for some drinking and fun with friends.

Daliah was heading back down stairs to comfort her old man, but stopped in pain as an old wound made itself known after a slip of a step.

"Sweety, why don't ya get some sleep, eh? Let your old man take watch tonight." That voice, that rough, gravely voice she loved, it was empty. Her pa had been the poster child of a man, with a deep voice, broad chest and muscles capable of wrestling down an Ursa, but now...now he was old and needed help just getting his arm off and on.

"Are you sure? The forge's been working you too hard lately, _you_ should be the one resting." Smith smiled, his gaze still not returning to this world. "Just like your mother..." Chuckling slightly, his shaggy silver hair bounced, and his eyes had finally refocused. "Just make this old man happy dear and rest that leg of yours. Don't think I don't know what that scout duty has you doin', ruining your leg even worse." Daliah lowered her eyes. Village scout was dangerous and she didn't know too much on fighting, but she was known for her athletic runs back during her school years, before she had to drop them to take care of her dad.

Despite the injury in her muscle, it seemed no one cared as long as you got quota in on time.

"Besides, I might try and spot some stars. If the stars are showin', even one, that would settle my old bones. I'll be in bed later, after I make sure everything is safe." Daliah just nodded. It still amazed her that despite having a healthier body, she was usually more tired than her father.

Walking up the stairs, she went to her make shift room, really a walk in closet with a bed and just enough room to move around. Her pa lived simple and plain, so she could make do with a bit of squeezing around.

Falling on her bed, she squeezed a floppy paw of her old teddy bear, Rufus. It had been a gift from her mother when she was little, and she cherished the old thing. Despite the thoughts that wanted her to stay with her pa, the ones that wanted to make the old man go to bed so she could be the one to shoulder a night of watch, she fell asleep.

She dreamed Lovette was in the kitchen, making her chocolate chip cookies and her pa was still smiling...when everything was happy.

 **...**

The first thing to register to her tired mind was the smoke wafting into her room. Still sleepy, she carried Rufus by his old bunny body, rubbing sleep out of her eyes as she was going to have to stop Smith from ruining breakfast again.

It wasn't until the heart stopping howl of a Grimm woke her up entirely.

Eyes wide, sapphire blue looked around for a mere second before she reacted. Smoke was wafting in from outside and half the kitchen was sparking. Then she noticed something that scared her.

Smith was gone.

The door was wrenched open, almost blown off its hinges as obvious forced exit was seen, and Daliah grabbed her trusty shotgun, still resting on the couch.

With a stuffed bunny in one hand and a twelve gauge in the other, she ignored the biting early morning cold as she exited her house.

Dark shapes, still barely visible in the first glimpses of the sun's rays, were darting to and fro, the obvious shapes of human and faunus, some carrying weapons, others fleeing, were everywhere, and Daliah was in the middle of it.

"Gotta find pa..." She took cautious but firm steps, her eyes darting around. Everywhere she looked was smoke and screams. The house she helped construct not a week earlier was collapsed in smoldering frames of wood and cracking glass, one huge dark shape shaking around seen through what was once the kitchen wall.

Feeling a numb fear grip her body, she slowed, almost shaking as what was happening finally registered.

Thermas was falling.

She could only register pain as she was slammed to the ground, her shotgun wrenched from her grasp and Rufus cushioning her hip from the gravel road. She looked up, then froze in cold fear.

White bone with pitch black fur, the deepest red she had ever seen glaring into her, the Beowolf growled, slowly standing to its full height.

For a single moment, she could only wonder why this was happening. In nothing but her shorts and work shirt, bare foot and clutching an old stuffed bunny to her chest, not a squick of fighting knowledge in her body, she kept her eyes firmly locked to the claws now quickly rising up.

Closing her eyes, she was waiting for the sound of tearing flesh and pain to register, but instead she heard a deep grunt and crunch of bone, but no pain except warm liquid spilling on her bare legs.

Opening her eyes, the fallen body of the Beowolf had collapsed next to her, dark ichor staining her tanned skin. Eyes darting up, what she saw would forever haunt her, in both good ways and bad.

It was her father.

Quickly spinning, the plain looking head of the big hammer catching another Beowolf under the jaw, before shifting momentum to a third wolf Grimm, this time it smashing against the side of the unguarded ear, the head collapsing in dark ichor and rotten meat.

Scratched, bloody and panting heavily, Smith Croft was fending off two more Beowolves with wide swings and crushing jabs from the pointed end of the wooden and steel framed handle.

"Pa-!" What happened next would haunt her, and this was for the worse. She had made the mistake of distracting him, allowing one of the Grimm to sink its teeth into her father neck.

With a scream that deafened herself, she ignored the new echoing pops of gunfire and new shrieking, in favor of staring horrified as her father fell limply, the two wolves now biting into her father's chest and neck.

Tears blinded her vision, and she just curled up, her last vision seeing the one man she took care of for so long, her only family member still kicking, fall thanks to her shouting, taking the man's attention away from a deadly fight just because she was too surprised to see him.

Her world went black as a brief moment of shrieking and bright light pierced her senses.

 **...**

Wrenching a silver blade out of the unsuspecting Beowolf, a figure of white steel with gold tinted ends glowed in the now rising sun, the silver blade of a plate sword clicking back into place on the forearm of the person.

With a silver mask shaped like an emotionless hawk, one long dark blue visor stretching across the face, the glass seemed to glow for a second, before the figure shot out, taking two more Grimm wolves in a quick strike of highly concentrated electricity.

Several townsfolk saw their chance and ran past the person in silver, heading to the dark gray ships that seemed to materialize out of thin air, soldiers in dark gray with helmets covering their faces and black rifles shaped like rectangular bars with grooves and ports ran past, taking fire on the converging Grimm as the creatures centered on the negativity.

The silver blade extended back out, making quick work of the advancing Grimm in the person's path with quick slashes and thrusts to the weak bone plating and exposed fur, while other soldiers took care of the rest.

While mute and intimidating on the outside, on the inside was a mixture of worry and confusion. "Why did these young Grimm attack a village? It's not like the Grimm to attack something before they reach maturity..." Young, male and questioning, the young man received an almost human like beep of agreement from.

There was a quick flurry of code as the figure turned to one of the craters left by the Talisman ship shells.

There was the remains of a small two story house, several decomposing Grimm, a warped piece of metal on ashy light brown wood, and under all that rubble, a heart beat.

Carefully removing the debris, he was met with a sorry sight.

Obviously a woman, but bruised, cut and covered with ash and debris, the once vibrant red hair was spotted and almost completely blackened by soot, while the face was stained with dirt and ash, one eye already swelling purple.

With cut clothing and quick risk to infection, the person in silver steel reached down to gently cradle the young woman, carefully removing jutting wood stuck in her skin and cloths.

With care, the man in armor made to move away, but a torn and soot stained stuffed bunny caught his attention. Especially with how the woman was holding one of its severed paws. Picking it up before quickly supporting the woman's back, the man placed it on her stomach, carefully cradling the woman in a way to be comfortable and not irritate some of her injuries.

Heading back to the diamond shaped Talisman ships, the suit of silver was met by a young officer.

"Mr. Arc, you have an incoming message. Let the medics take care of your guest, those wounds need disinfectant and medical attention now."


End file.
